


True Knight

by phnelt



Series: Throne Gays [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Romance, Unconventional Marriage Proposal, characters consider themselves married even though legally they aren't, post-s8, unconventional vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phnelt/pseuds/phnelt
Summary: It was always proper, never overly familiar, but it was a close as Brienne could reckon to having a friend. And sometimes Sansa would look at her with her eyes wide open and bright, sometimes smiling, like she never looked at anyone during the day. During the day, Sansa was collected and shrewd, never giving anything away, but at night she let Brienne in. Brienne missed that too. There was nothing like that for Brienne in King’s Landing.





	True Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to scintilla10 for betaing!

They’d been at Riverrun for two days before the Northern delegation had arrived. Brienne had asked why they couldn’t have these treaty negotiations in King’s Landing, but King Bran had only intoned that wolves weren’t meant for cities. So she’d asked why they couldn’t go to Winterfell, whereupon Tyrion had conveyed that it would be  _ obviously  _ beneath the dignity of the King to be summoned to the Kingdom of another.

Brienne was impatient with the lot of them. How could it be shameful to visit your childhood home, the home of your sister where Brienne could be sure that the guards and servants meant her King no harm?

Instead Riverrun had been named as a compromise, with the consequence that Lord Edmure had been walking around puffed up like a laying chicken.

But the balm to his pride was a small price to pay for the relief of being outside of King’s Landing. Brienne had never spent any real time there before taking up her post as head of the Kingsguard. She found she didn’t like it overmuch. Beneath the scars of its destruction it was still crowded, smelly, and utterly corrupt. In some ways, Bronn was the best of them, because at least he was open about what he wanted. But the others, the nobles, the courtiers, the merchants who snickered and schemed and thought only of their own advantage regardless of how fragile the current peace was -- she could not abide them.

When she had served Sansa at Winterfell, it had been different. Yes, they had been preparing for an unparalleled threat, but the North men were also different. Slower to talk and to action. 

\---

The guards around Sansa were scowling and mistrustful, eyeing anyone who came near. When Edmure embraced Sansa after sharing the bread and salt, Brienne saw three Northmen’s hands twitch towards their sword belts. 

It all seemed a bit paranoid, since the North was independent and acknowledged as such. They had won. But Robb had been winning when he was murdered at a wedding, and Eddard had been hand of the king when he was executed. Brandon, Rickard, Jon, Lyanna -- all Starks lost. Brienne wondered how these men took Bran’s elevation. Was him becoming King just yet another way that the south had stolen a Lord of Winterfell? 

Bran was right, they never would have let Sansa go to King’s Landing, even if she’d wanted to come. For some reason, it made Brienne sad. After this was over, there would be no reason that Brienne and Sansa would ever see each other again.

So maybe it wasn’t so strange. Brienne missed the way Sansa would sit down with her in the evening and go over the ravens with her, or take her report on the training as she bound up her hair for sleep. She never asked a maid to help her -- and certainly never asked Brienne -- she would just carefully brush her hair out and then pull it into plaits, secured against the nape of her neck. Even when Jon was back, Brienne would end her evenings with Sansa, sharing counsel.

It was always proper, never overly familiar, but it was a close as Brienne could reckon to having a friend. And sometimes Sansa would look at her with her eyes wide open and bright, sometimes smiling, like she never looked at anyone during the day. During the day, Sansa was collected and shrewd, never giving anything away, but at night she let Brienne in. Brienne missed that too. There was nothing like that for Brienne in King’s Landing.

\---

The negotiations were going on. Brienne couldn’t tell if they were going well. The Westeros chief negotiator kept blustering about various conditions relating to fishing, and the Northern negotiator only responded to direct questions, which the Westerosi lord seemed incapable of asking, starting every sentence with ‘wouldn’t you say…’ or ‘don’t you agree…’ So very little seemed to be happening. Bran and Sansa said nothing, sitting at the head of the table, trying not to look bored. This was easy for Bran, who had mastered impassivity, and Sansa was matching him. They could have been made of marble.

Finally they called a recess, and Ser Roderick came to relieve her.

“Ser Brienne,” Bran called out as she was bowing. “I suggest a walk in the west orchard.” He said nothing else, and she backed away, bemused.

Still, she had no other obligations, so to the orchard it was.

She’d barely been exploring for a minute when she saw Sansa and only one guard, through the trees. 

Brienne froze.

Sansa cast a striking profile in the woods. Her auburn hair cascaded over the shoulders of her cloak, stark against the greys and silvers of the fabric. And as always, the wolf, here depicted curling around her collarbones, noses tilted upwards towards her neck.

Before Brienne could decide what to do, Sansa looked up and saw her. Sansa started towards her and instead of bowing out and allowing Sansa a moment of solitude, she simply waited.

When she was close enough, but a few paces away, Sansa called out to her. “Ser Brienne,”  Her breath caught hearing her title so casually from Sansa’s lips.  _ Ser Brienne.  _ Sansa made it sound natural, like it had always been a part of Brienne’s name. It was much better than most of the sneering men in King’s Landing could manage. All of them weaker than her, none of them who had seen what she was capable of. Sansa took another step closer. “Ser Brienne, would you join me for a walk?”

Brienne quirked an eyebrow. Surely Sansa knew that a royal request carried the force of a demand? So she waited and Sansa joined her, skirts whispering as she walked.

They walked past a few trees, all apple, all growing their leaves in. Suddenly, Sansa turned to her guard.

“You’re dismissed.” Sansa nodded to the guard beside her who looked as if he would rather swallow his own foot than follow her order.

“Your Grace…” he began clearly torn between being too respectful to disobey an order and loath to leave Sansa unprotected.  _ Good,  _ Brienne thought,  _ that is as it should be.  _ Once it had been her duty to protect Sansa, back when she was simply Lady Stark and not the Queen in the North, but now she protected her brother.

“I’ll be perfectly safe with Ser Brienne,” Sansa nodded encouragingly at the guard who finally turned to go before turning to smile at Brienne. 

She realised Sansa required a response. She bowed in agreement. “Yes, my -- Your Grace.” She cursed her slip up. Sansa had been her lady for so long that she forgot herself for a moment.  _ And here I am, supposedly representing the King of the Six Kingdoms and I can’t even get a title right. _

They walked for a moment more and Brienne began to think they would continue the whole walk in silence, and return to the castle, in silence, and Sansa would sit at the table in silence, and thinking so -- and then Sansa spoke.

“Ser,” Sansa began, and Brienne realised she had been waiting for her guard to be out of earshot, “you are in contravention of your vows.” Sansa stopped and Brienne took a couple of extra steps, shocked. She forced her legs to stop and turned back to stare at Sansa who was simply gazing at her, implacable.

“My Lady?” Her voice came out as a bit of a squeak and she cleared her throat, belatedly realising her error again with the titles. “I--” She did not know what to say.

“I never released you from my service and yet you serve another.” As usual, Sansa was giving nothing away in either her voice or look. Could this be true? Brienne thought back. She suppose that Sansa had never formally given her leave to join the Kingsguard, but Brienne had assumed the permission was understood.

But more importantly, “Why are you mentioning this now?”

Sansa’s eyes cut to the side, belying her calm but she simply raised her chin and said, “I find that I don’t want to see you depart my service.”

Brienne wracked her mind to understand what Sansa was saying. Brienne felt like Sansa was saying something beneath her words, but Brienne had never been good at picking up on those things and Sansa had always been too clever at it. Brienne wasn’t used to having Sansa turn that cleverness against her.

She was never going to be able to play the game so she blurted out, “Then why did you let me go?” She hated how confused she sounded, how unsure, but there was nothing to be done.

Sansa looked down so Brienne could no longer see her eyes but her voice was earnest, “I would never keep you from what you wanted.” And that was true, Sansa had vouched for Jaime for her, had helped her try to keep him. 

She repeated herself, “Then why  _ now? _ ”

“My brother suggested that maybe you hadn’t truly wanted to leave me, and that maybe you would be open to coming back?” Sansa met her eyes, searching.

Brienne was taken aback. “His Grace said that?” Had she been remiss in her duties?

“No, Jon.” Sansa’s tongue darted out, mischievous. Brienne barely prevented herself from rolling her eyes. “I must admit, it took me some time to understand what he was insinuating in his ravens, but once I did, I had to see you.”

That couldn’t be right. “You came here for the treaty negotiations.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Bran and I don’t need to be here for this, we worked out the details ages ago. This is a formality to make the lords feel useful and consulted. I came for  _ you.”  _ Brienne felt a blush climb up her cheeks.

“Why would His Grace write to you about me?” King Bran could simply have had her dismissed if he was displeased, he didn’t need to orchestrate any of this.

“Because he wants me to have what I want too,” and Sansa’s eyes were locked on Brienne’s.

Sometimes, when Sansa had looked at her smiling, Sansa would keep her gaze for just a second longer, and the brightness would sharpen into something intent. And Brienne hadn’t understood what that look meant, then, but she knew what it meant now.

Sansa was looking at her like that now. Brienne didn’t want her to ever stop. 

She felt her blush grow.

Her voice came out as a whisper, but it carried to Sansa. “What do you want from me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The question was harsh, but Sansa’s voice was kind.

She continued, “You know I will never marry. I cannot.” Brienne’s vision whites out with rage at the thought that anyone would ever dare to try and sell Sansa Stark off  _ again. It will never happen,  _ Brienne vows to herself,  _ no brute shall ever touch her. Not while I still draw breath.  _ She’s so caught up in the effrontery of the idea that it takes her a second to realise that Sansa means something else. 

Sansa is looking at her apologetically, not quite wringing her hands, but the hint of it is there in the way that she keeps twitching her hands towards each other. Sansa continues, “I am the North and the North is independent.” Which sounds right and proper, even if twenty years ago an independent Northern Kingdom would have been an outlandish notion. But Sansa really was those things. “But,” and here her gaze fell towards Brienne eyes clear, lips slightly twisted, unsure, suddenly the young woman that she was beneath all of the responsibility and grace. “I would very much like for us to belong to each other.” 

Sansa takes a breath in and holds it for a second. “And I would like for it to be known, who you are to me.” And then Sansa waits, with every illusion of patience aside from the way her hands had finally met in the middle, gripped tight.

“And who am I to you, your Grace?” Brienne kept her voice even, awaiting Sansa’s reply.

“You are my true knight.”

And Brienne started forward, found herself kneeling without her conscious consent as Sansa’s feet, looking up at her. Sansa looked down at her, hand outstretched, lips parted. Her tongue darts out to wet them. 

Brienne bowed her head and said the familiar words. “I will shield your back --”  _ and she will never need another --  _ and keep your counsel --  _ she flashes to a future of late evenings spent together by the fire  _ \-- and give my life for yours. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

She looked up and saw that Sansa had not moved, still staring at her, eyes shining. She took a shaky breath. “And you shall always,  _ always,  _ have a place at my hearth and I pledge to ask no service of you that might cause you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

She did what she wanted, and grasped Sansa’s soft, outstretched hand in both of her sword callused ones and bowed over it, pressing her lips against it. 

Instead of telling Brienne that she may now arise, to close out the vows, Sansa let out a soft gasp and fell to her knees as well, barely making a sound as they hit the soft dirt.  _ Wrong,  _ Brienne’s mind supplied. There was something so right about Sansa standing above her. Her Lady, direct from all the songs and stories, resplendent. But all of her thoughts were driven out of her head as Sansa pressed their lips together, sealing their binding more securely than any High Septon could.

**Author's Note:**

> *sees a couple*: so, uh, which one of you is the Lady and which one is the True Knight?
> 
> edit to add: this is posted on tumblr! If you like it, feel free to reblog: [ here ](https://tmblr.co/ZD3Daw2iZ4nws)


End file.
